All of me uncharted
by A Nameless Traveler
Summary: "I have this fantasy." And maybe it's Stiles' favorite one. And maybe it's been buzzing under his skin for the longest time. So he makes a post about it. There's nothing shameful about that. He expects most of the responses he gets - the supporters, the enthusiasts, the creeps. But the simple message: "Would you trust me to give you that?" After that, all bets are off. Stiles/Derek
1. All of me uncharted

**Title:** All of me uncharted  
 **Author:** ANTchan  
 **Fandom:** Teen Wolf  
 **Rating/Genre:** Smutfic/E  
 **Pairings:** Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski  
 **Summary:** _I have this fantasy._

And maybe it's Stiles' favorite one. And maybe it's been buzzing under his skin for the longest time. So he makes a post about it. There's nothing shameful about that. That's what blogs like this are for. He expects most of the responses he gets - the supporters, the enthusiasts, the creeps.

But the simple message: _Would you trust me to give you that?_

After that, all bets are off.

 **This story includes** (Safe, Sane, Consensual) BDSM, casual sex, anonymous sex, bondage, orgasm delay/denial, slight dubcon roleplay (in concept rather than practice), rough sex, prior consent, kink negotiation, aftercare, werewolves are known AU, intensely platonic/pseudo-romantic Sciles, and platonic Sciles kisses.

So this is what happens when I try to write porn, by which I mean it's ridiculously plotty and character-based.

As for the porn, the "slight dubcon roleplay" tag is a precautionary measure. Stiles has a fantasy where he gives up consent and lets a stranger fuck him however they please. Due to the nature of unasked consent, the fantasy is a little dubcon. In practice, though, it's all very heavy on prior consent and kink negotiation before the scene reenacting the fantasy. Safe, sane, consensual!

This fic is unbeta'd.

* * *

 **All of me uncharted**

* * *

It starts with a post. A little something like this:

 _I have this fantasy. My favorite fantasy. I'm staying at a hotel, and someone follows me back to my room. Simple, right? Simple, but I've imagined it in so many ways. Maybe I find him in the lobby, and I can't help but want him. Maybe he catches me staring, catches me wanting him. Maybe he just sees me, and I don't even notice he's there, but he_ _ **wants me**_ _so much that he just can't resist. I think that's the one I like best. Every time I travel, just thinking about it gets me hot. I'm always hard by the time I get to my room. And every time, I end up standing just inside the door, fantasizing about what could happen._

 _In my fantasy, I leave the door ajar. It's an easy mistake, to let the door get caught on the deadbolt instead of locking it. In my fantasy I undress, climb onto the bed, and just watch the door, playing with myself. Getting myself excited until I can't stand it. Then I get up, my legs shaking, and go get lube, my belt, and maybe a dildo. The belt is my favorite. I love to be tied up, restrained, pinned. I've had this brown leather belt that I've used so many times that it's gone soft and malleable. I love it. I love binding my wrists together while I fuck into my fist. Or behind my back while I finger myself open. So I get back onto the bed, wind the belt around my wrists, slick my fingers up, and have fun. Maybe fuck myself open on my dildo. And all the while I can't help thinking about it. About the door being left ajar. In a hotel, people always roaming the halls, anything could happen. Anyone could come in._

 _And that's when I hear footsteps coming up the hall. Slowly, slowly. Until they stop at my room. My heart is pounding. I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning. And then I hear the door creak open. Footsteps come into the room. And stop. It should be embarrassing. I'm there, wrists bound with my ass in the air, hot and open and desperate for it. But it's not, it only make me want it more. I don't see who it is. I just hear the door shut, and the lock slide into place. I can see his legs when I glance between my knees. See him coming closer. I can hear the sound of his belt buckle as he works it open, watch him slide his pants off his hips and get his dick out. And then it's the burn and sting as he shoves his cock into me. And then he's in control, and I love it. He uses me, he_ _ **owns**_ _me, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. But I don't want to._

 _After he's finished with me, he doesn't say anything, just leaves me there, shaking and breathless on the bed, and walks out._

Stiles doesn't feel even an ounce of shame for posting it. The site is dedicated to that kind of thing - sexual fantasies and kinks and fellow enthusiasts thereof. All he does feel is excitement, and arousal so hot that he has to get up from his desk and go get his belt because now the fantasy is in his head and he _wants_.

It's a fantasy he's perfected over years. And even though Stiles has had a decent number of guys who want to get all up on this, the fantasy isn't something he's ever shared. For any number of reasons - including trust, timing, and that one time a guy got weirded out by Stiles suggestions to spice up their sex life. It's all uncharted territory in practice, and Stiles can feel it buzzing beneath his skin these days.

If it takes a more than a few hours to get back to the post, after fucking himself into a stupor and needing a nap and a re-energizing snack afterwards, he really can't be blamed for that. Thinking about the comments his post will have brings about a new wave of excitement, and Stiles finds his heart racing as he pulls up the page.

There's quite a few, as there always is when someone posts a fantasy like this. Some of them are from people he recognizes from the community, regulars to the site who post and comment frequently. There's nothing but support from them, even if the kinks he's talking about aren't theirs. He gets compliments from everything from his writing to his imagination. He gets "that's so hot" and "I wish I had someone who would do that for _me_ " from them, and it brings a grin to his face. There's a whole handful of them that Stiles mostly ignores, or outright rolls his eyes at. The standard internet creeps who assure him that "I can do that for you, baby boy" and other far more explicit and creeptastic things. None of them are particularly alarming, but Stiles logs IP addresses for them anyway because he's the son of a cop and paranoia is kind of his thing. So just in case.

And then there's one that catches his eye. It doesn't belong in the creepy category at all, nor is it explicit. But it's…

 _Would you trust me to give you that?_

It's definitely the least predatory of the propositions he's gotten on the post, and maybe even on the site as a whole. The username is one he recognizes too.

 _Airitech_ is someone he sees occasionally around the community, sometimes Stiles even talks to him on topics. He doesn't post much, maybe once or twice a month. Some of his posts are pretty funny - adventures in casual sex are sometimes ridiculous. Sometimes his posts are heavier, talking about what Stiles can only describe as trust issues and how his partners push for things he isn't ready to give. It gives Stiles he sense that the guy hasn't had the greatest experiences in his life.

So Stiles can't be blamed for getting caught off guard by the wording, featuring heavily on _trust._

And so maybe Stiles fixates on it. Maybe he reads it over and over again for at least twenty minutes.

Maybe he _actually_ considers it. He shouldn't consider it. This has serial rapist/murderer written all over it. It wouldn't be smart.

He does consider it.

Stiles is smart. But he doesn't make good decisions. Ask anyone.

Which is why he finds himself replying to the comment.

 _Trust based on a single comment is a bit much to ask, don't you think? Trust based on actual discussion, though, that may be a different story._

It takes approximately ten minutes (eleven minutes and forty-six seconds to be exact - he wasn't counting _at all_ ) to get a response. This time, though, it's a private message. Again, _Airitech_ isn't the only one to have sent him one after his post. But _Airitech's_ is the only one Stiles actually reads.

 _Airitech says: That's reasonable. What you want requires a lot of trust, if you want to go through with it like you wrote._

Stiles blinks at it for a few minutes, fingers hovering over the keys. There are too many things his brain wants to say at once. He starts his message in about six different ways before he finally just gives up and replies.

 _falling with stile says: You're one to talk about giving trust. Isn't that hard for you?_

 _Airitech says: You've read my posts? Yes, trust is hard for me. But after reading your post, I realized I want that too. I'd like to give that to you, if you could find that you'd trust me enough for that._

 _falling with stile says: Right. And we're not going to talk about the fact that you could be a crazy serial killer or serial rapist or something?_

Stiles nods to himself as he hits "send." That's right. He's not stupid. He's going to play this smart. Nevermind the fact that his heart is racing in his chest and his hands are fidgeting nervously in excitement. No, don't mind that.

 _Airitech says: Fair enough. We also going to talk about the fact that you could be too?_

He should be putting his paranoid mind to work, parsing out every possible motive behind those words. He's a criminology major, damnit. He's going to make a career out of how these things end. And yet here he is.

 _falling with stile says: True. Alright, so let's talk. How do you usually proposition anonymous sex from people? I've never done anything like this, dude, so I don't know the basic rules of engagement._

 _Airitech says: I've never done this either. I meet my one night stands the usual way. Would you be more comfortable with getting to know each other before roleplaying your fantasy?_

And that's… that's really kind of generous at face value. Stiles should still feel uneasy about the whole thing. He kind of does, but more about the fact that he _actually_ wants to go along with this than how _Airitech_ is making him feel. It takes him a while to work up the nerve to respond.

 _falling with stile says: No. We can talk without revealing identities pretty easily. I'm not going to just agree to meet up with strange men just because they promise sex, though. I'm not that easy._

 _Airitech says: I'm fine with that._

* * *

So they do. Talk, that is. They agree to meet on Skype and talk until the sun has long since set. Stiles expects _Airitech_ to immediately push him into arranging a meet up. From everything Stiles has heard about these kinds of encounters, that's how this should logically go. But he doesn't. Instead he asks Stiles about his fantasy, about which of his kinks makes him want it to be played out that way.

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Is it the bondage? Or the anonymous nature of it? Or something else?_

 _flying is just falling with stile: It's... both of those things and then a little more? I like the thought of someone having that control over me, y'know? I like to fantasize about someone taking it from me._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: So you like being dominated._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Sometimes, yeah._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: That's not a real answer. You either do, or you don't. So why don't you find a Dom to give you what you want?_

 _flying is just falling with stile: Because, dude, I don't want that all the time. And I may be a master at awkward conversations, but "Hey, nice to meet you. Do you like to sexually dominate people?" is a bit much even for yours truly._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Besides, I'm currently finding someone to give me what I want. So hey, nice to meet you. Do you like to sexually dominate people?_

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Sometimes, yeah._

 _flying is just falling with stile: You're seriously not_

 _flying is just falling with stile: Omg, you're one of THOSE assholes aren't you._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Sometimes, yeah._

At that, Stiles lowers his head to his desk and laughs.

* * *

When Stiles doesn't make any overtures towards agreeing to meet him, he expects _Airitech_ to push, or to become frustrated. But a week goes by, and they talk every few days - mostly about the fantasy. (' _Their fantasy_ ,' his mind whispers with a quiet thrill.) But sometimes they talk and it never leads to anything about sex at all. He learns that _Airitech_ has seen all the Star Wars movies, but doesn't hold any special affection for them; that he doesn't buy into the whole Marvel vs. DC battle, but he _does_ love the X-Men most out of all of them; that his favorite ice cream flavor is chocolate peanut butter ripple; and that he does _not_ consider Miracle Whip real mayonnaise.

( _Airitech Mac Tire: It says DRESSING on the jar. It's not mayonnaise._

 _flying is just falling with stile: It's literally used the same way as other mayonnaises._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: I WILL fight you on this._ )

It's… fun. _Airitech_ can be a grouch. Stiles has called him a grumpy old man in more than one conversation. But he's sarcastic and has this dry, deadpan sense of humor that Stiles can just play with all day.

( _Airitech Mac Tire: I'm only 27._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Uh-huh sure. No such thing as a sexy guy under 40 on the internet. You're definitely balding and overweight._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: If we're following this cliche, that means you're 15 and rebellious, but "mature for your age."_

 _Airitech Mac Tire: ….please tell me you're not underage._

 _flying is just falling with stile: I'm 21, dude. Chill!_ )

He didn't set out on this planning to know anything about _Airitech._ But despite what Stiles told him about wanting this to be as anonymous as possible, he learns things. And even though most of those things are only small details about _Airitech_ , it makes him feel less like a stranger that he's agreeing to fuck without seeing his face beforehand. But sometimes he learns important things.

 _Airitech Mac Tire: I'm a werewolf. I hope that doesn't change things._

The message comes out of nowhere, and with such neutral wording that _Airitech_ has obviously been agonizing over it for a while. Stiles has to set his drink down after reading it, wheezing and flailing his hands at the screen emphatically as if it will magically tell him _how he should feel about that._

He gets up and paces around the room for a few minutes. In the end, he doesn't so much come up with a response rather than fumble his way into one. Because as he sits down to _attempt_ to answer, he focuses on something else entirely.

 _flying is just falling with stile: OMG DID YOU USE WEREWOLF MYTHOLOGY FOR YOUR SCREENNAMES?_

 _flying is just falling with stile: THAT IS SO RIDICULOUSLY DORKY._

 _flying is just falling with stile: You're adorable. In fact: adorkable. Seriously. Just. UGH._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: At least I didn't use a Toy Story reference for mine._

 _flying is just falling with stile: You shut your mouth!_

 _flying is just falling with stile: But seriously, dude, I don't care. As long as this whole thing isn't a ploy to a) give me the Bite against my will_

 _flying is just falling with stile: b) eat me_

 _flying is just falling with stile: c) get me to think you're a Were so that you can fuck me without a condom. Because I am not trusting that blindly._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Other than that, we're good. My best friend is a werewolf. I am completely cool with it._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: None of that is happening. I wouldn't ask that of you even if you did trust me blindly._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: And I'm a Beta, so I couldn't give you the Bite anyway._

 _flying is just falling with stile: You're not gonna surprise me with a knot either, right?_

 _Airitech Mac Tire: No! I wouldn't do that. And it's not the right time of the year._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Then we're cool, dude._

* * *

The moment he decides he's doing this is one of the most intense adrenaline rushes he's had since Scott tried to eat him on his first full moon. Stiles in an impulsive man, even when he takes his Adderall. The fact that he resisted for almost two weeks is a feat in itself. It says something about him that the risk gets him worked up in ways it probably shouldn't. Of course, this also means that he immediately tells Scott about it, not only because Scott is his best friend in the whole world, but also because if he's going to do this, Scott is going to be his lifeline in case this turns out to be an elaborate plot to kidnap, murder, or otherwise violate him.

Scott, however, isn't nearly as enthusiastic about the idea as Stiles is.

"No."

"What?" Stiles fails into Scott's space across the couch, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him. He barely moves. Stupid werewolf sturdiness. "Scott. _Scott!_ Do you _want_ me to be horribly accosted in some way? I need you, buddy!"

"Exactly. So no."

"Not following you, Scotty."

Scott crosses his arms over his chest, and _oh,_ he has that concerned little furrow to his brow.

 _Goddamnit._

"Scott…"

"You have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"It's not any different than meeting a guy at a party!" Stiles exclaims.

"Yeah, except when you meet a guy at a party you can tell that it's actually a normal guy and not some werewolf serial killer."

"Actually there are a pretty similar set of rules for deciding if people on the internet are really creeps. About as much as you can tell from meeting someone at a club or a campus party." He arches a pointed eyebrow at Scott. "Which is why you always designate someone as a lifeline just in case something _goes wrong, Scotty._ That's you, by the way."

Still, Scott seems extremely uncomfortable with the idea. He hems and haws over it for a bit, before venturing, "You're really determined to go meet this guy, aren't you?"

"Yeah, dude. He hasn't set off any red flags. Hasn't pushed to meet me. Hasn't done anything but talk about what we'd be comfortable with and what we aren't. It's honest-to-god _kink negotiation,_ Scotty. But just because he seems okay doesn't mean I'm gonna agree to meet him without having someone ready to call the cops if it goes wrong."

His best friend mulls over that for a few minutes, his face scrunched up in the a thoughtful scowl that's actually downright adorable. Not for the first time, Stiles is struck with a burst of affection for Scott McCall, and kind of wants to kiss him right now.

Scott is wonderful and unbearably cute and _his_ and sometimes that means Stiles has a sudden desire to smooch him.

"That's it," he voices the thought aloud. "You're getting smooches. C'mere!" He slides his fingers over either side of Scott's jaw to link at the back of his neck, drawing him in quickly and pressing fluttering kisses to his lips, and his chin, and his nose, and anywhere he can reach as Scott wriggles and laughs under the onslaught.

"Stop that!" he shrieks.

"Neverrrrr!" Stiles throws all of his weight against him, which would mean nothing to Scott's werewolf strength if he didn't want it. The world tips as they lose balance, and go tumbling off the couch in a tangle of limbs and laughter. They end up squished together between the couch and the coffee table, touching from shoulders to knees, legs tangled, and one of Scott's arm wedged under Stiles' head where he tried to protect him from the edge of the table. They're sharing each others breaths and kisses between giggles.

It's so sweet that it _hurts_.

"If you're gonna do this," Scott murmurs breathlessly once their laughter has subsided, "I want to know when you get there and I want to hear you're okay right after. If you don't text me in like… three hours, I'm coming to get you."

Stiles hums. "I can do that. And if he doesn't agree to that, it'll be a no-go anyway. Okay?"

"Okay. I just want you to be safe."

"Bein' as safe as I can, buddy. I've got you for the rest."

That seems to ease the rest of the tension, because Scott smiles, slow and easy. "I wanna scent you before you go too," he blurts out. And when Stiles lifts his head to stare at him, he flushes. "Not like… aggressively. Just enough for him to know you're protected. That you're my Pack and he'd better be on his best behavior."

Ah, _werewolves._ Stiles rolls his eyes as dramatically as he can manage. "I'll ask him, how's that? This kink negotiation of ours goes both ways."

"I can live with that." Scott presses his face to Stiles' neck and nuzzles him, so apparently he's in for a low-key scenting anyway. But hey, Stiles can live with that too.

* * *

After that, plans fall rapidly into place. Once Stiles tells _Airitech_ that he wants to meet up, he gets… adorably professional about it, really. They go over everything they'd talked about over the last few weeks.

There's even a _checklist_ involved.

 _flying is just falling with stile: You seriously want me to fill this out._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: This is your first time doing a scene, so yes. I want to make sure I do this exactly how you want it._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Doesn't that make all the dominating and me wanting the choice to be taken from me redundant?_

 _Airitech Mac Tire: No. It tells me exactly what you're_ _ **consenting**_ _to and what you're_ _ **not consenting**_ _to and those are lines that won't be crossed._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Look. Just… do the fucking checklist._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Ohhh yes, SIR._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: You're not funny._

"Excuse you," he says to the unheeding laptop, "I am _hilarious._ Screw you and your checklist."

He does the checklist anyway. Even does it all nice and neat and not too rambly or sarcastic, which _Airitech_ clearly won't appreciate the immense effort that takes. He might demand a reward later. No, he's _definitely_ demanding a reward later, with how long it takes him to work through the checklist. Even if it's _sexy_ homework, it's still _homework._

 _ **Aftercare preference:**_ You don't need to stick around, dude. Just fuck me, make sure I'm a-okay, then leave.

 _ **Safeword:**_ Whittemore? That's the best mood killer I can think of, HA.

 _Asphyxiation/Breathplay/Choking:_ No/No (not opposed to trying, but not for this)/Yes - but only for purposes of restraint.

 _Bodily fluids (saliva/comeplay/blood/urine/feces):_ Saliva is okay? But not excessive spitting, Christ. Allowing comeplay on skin but not inside me. Please wear a fucking condom, wolfman. Other than that, mark me up. Also NO, NO, and NO.

 _Bondage (general):_ 3 YES AND YES. I'm bringing my belt.

 _Bondage (rope):_ Never tried it, but I want to. Not in this scene though.

 _Bondage (bare hands):_ YES PLEASE.

 _Bondage (chains/handcuffs/bars/collaring/leashing)_ : Willing to try all of these, but not comfortable with it for a first scene?

 _Dubcon/Noncon roleplay:_ Dubcon yeah. That's the whole point of this. We've discussed it a lot and I'm cool with you making the choices and making me go with it - but only as long as we talk about it beforehand like this and as long as you stop when I safeword.

 _Humiliation:_ Sweet Christ, yes. Use me and make me admit I love it, big guy.

 _Orgasm Delay/Denial:_ Yes for this scene in BIG NEON LETTERS.

 _Scratching/Biting:_ With caution? Get a little wolfy with me, dude, but I'd like to not be clawed up and gnawed on.

 _Shifted sex/knotting:_ Uhhh not against it? Just don't surprise me with it in the middle of this, okay?

 _Smacking:_ Uhhh. No idea.

 _Spanking (punishment/play):_ What, like telling me I've been a bad boy and taking me over your knee? Not sure if I like that in practice. A little bit during play might be okay though? Willing but uncertain, yeah.

 _Toys (dildos/plugs/vibes)_ : I'm not bringing any of mine, but I don't have any problems with it.

The list goes on and on and it's only about halfway through it that Stiles realizes he's forgotten that this is supposed to be a one night stand and nothing more. For a few minutes he debates going back and redoing half the checklist, before just saying "fuck it" and sending it along. No one has to know he sits there with his heart in his throat for _Airitech's_ response. The answer he get is not what he expects.

 _Airitech Mac Tire: It all looks good except for two things. First: your safeword. That's someone's name, right?_

 _flying is just falling with stile: Yeah. Some jerk I've known for years. Guaranteed to kill the mood._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: The point of a safeword is that you can remember it even when you're deep into a scene and that it's never going to have a place in a scene. Not that it's unsexy._

 _flying is just falling with stile: So not Whittemore then?_

 _Airitech Mac Tire: You going to some asshole's name when things get intense?_

 _flying is just falling with stile: Okay, fair point. Rowan, then._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: As long as you can remember it. Second: the aftercare. I'm not leaving you without it._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Dude, we're not doing anything that hardcore. You're not like whipping me or anything._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: It's your first real scene. And EVERY scene requires aftercare._

 _flying is just falling with stile: Oh come on!_

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Look, either you agree to let me stay and check up on you for a while afterwards, or this isn't happening._

Stiles throws himself back in his chair with a curse.

 _flying is just falling with stile: ugh FINE_

 _flying is just falling with stile: I guess the part where you leave me hard and desperate for it after you get off will just have to be left out of the roleplay._

Stiles nods resolutely to himself. "There," he mutters, "Take that, asshole."

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Look, we can have both. What if I leave directly after, just long enough to get some ice or a drink or something, and that can signal that the scene is over. And then I can come back and we can do the aftercare._

Stiles purses his lips, rocking back and forth in the chair for a few moments.

 _flying is just falling with stile: Fine. Still don't think it's needed. But whatever._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Thank you._

* * *

Making the arrangements to meet is the hardest part, which is kind of amazing. For all the cautious _talking_ that he and _Airitech_ have done over the past few weeks, it was actually pretty easy and fun. Finding a hotel on the other hand, is frustrating to the point that Stiles wants to pull out his hair.

Luckily, they're both in the state of California.

Unluckily, they both apparently have schedules that don't condone impulsive sex vacations. So it takes some wrangling before Stiles can find a day where his classes and internship will allow him to get away; and for _Airitech_ to find a free day from… whatever his life includes. They eventually settle on a hotel that's within a reasonable distance of both of them. And even though the room rate is a little higher than Stiles would normally go for, he's still willing to pay it. Once all the arrangements are made, Stiles sits down and steels himself for this to all go tits up.

 _flying is just falling with stile: I'm going to make a post about our meet up._

It takes a while for _Airitech_ to get back to him. Enough time that he's already worked out his post and is hovering over the post button, fingers itching to click.

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Are you going to blog about the whole thing?_

 _flying is just falling with stile: I won't make one after if you don't want me to. But I'm definitely announcing that I'm meeting you so there's witnesses. You know, just in case I disappear._

 _Airitech Mac Tire: Okay. Just… no pictures of me. I don't want my face on the that site. Do you want me to make one too? Admitting that we're meeting?_

 _flying is just falling with stile: You play to my paranoia so well. 3_

 _Airitech Mac Tire: I just want you to feel safe._

"I.. ffff-" Stiles makes as if to grab the laptop and shake it. "Stop _saying_ things like that! God." He's not blushing. His stomach is _not_ doing exhilarated little flips.

Nope.

* * *

 _Airitech Mac Tire: I'm here. Call me-_

-is the message Stiles gets a mere block from the hotel. It's attached to a number. An actual phone number, _fuck_ , this is actually happening. He taps it out as he's stopped at a red light, and bounces his leg as it rings. His heart pounds, mouth dry and it's _so fucking stupid. Get it together, Stiles, it's just a phone call._

"Hello?"

And that's… that voice is much softer, younger than he expected. He expected a deep growl, a gritty voice, hell, even a _creepy_ voice in his worst states of paranoia. But not this.

"A… uh… Airitech?"

" _Hey_." No. Nope. That tone of awe and excitement should not be coming from a voice like that. Stiles will _die_. "You almost here?"

"Y-Yeah, yeah, just a few minutes out. Are you checked in?"

"Mhm. I'm waiting to see you." The words are so simple, yet they send a rush of heat through Stiles.

"Are you like… waiting in the lobby? Should I make a hand signal or… or tell you what I'm wearing or-"

"I'm where I can see you when you come in. But I'm not telling you where," _Airitech_ says playfully. His voice dips lower in a growl and that, _that isn't allowed either._ "You don't have to tell me anything. I'm sure you'll be the one smelling like low-key arousal. You'll be easy prey."

A whimper crawls past his parted lips. He almost misses the turn off into the hotel.

On the other end of the line, _Airitech_ chuckles quietly. "Are you hard?"

"Getting there," he says in a rush, his voice cracking.

"Good. It'll be easier to hunt you down that way."

' _There is something wrong with me,_ ' Stiles decides, then and there. There has to be, because _no one_ should react to something that primal and predatory - no matter how casually it's said - and immediately have to adjust himself in his pants. "I'm… I'm here!" he says. "I'll be in, in a second."

"Alright. I'll give you a ten minute headstart after you check in."

"Right. Got it." He hangs up before he can do something stupid, like let his mouth run away with him or moan right into _Airitech's_ ear. But then it leaves him in a silence that's only broken by the rumbling of the Jeep's engine. Stiles is afraid to turn it off; afraid it'll leave him alone in his thoughts. He grabs his duffel and hops out of the car just as he kills the engine.

He makes sure not to stop to look at the hotel as he goes in. If he does, he might lose his nerve.

Stiles is forced to stop, however, as he waits for his turn to check in. The hotel is nice without being ostentatious. It's all clean lines and soft colors. There's a lounge off to one side, and a secluded bar on the other. And, as Stiles peers up, sitting areas up on the large balcony overlooking the lobby. There are people of all types dotted around them, and Stiles can't help but wonder. His eyes dart between them, skin prickling, wondering if the eyes he senses on him is as obvious as it feels, or just imaginary.

"Sir?"

His heart jumps so forcefully his fingertips tingle. "Oh, right, hi. Uh, reservation for Stilinski?" He hands over his ID and his card, taking a moment of derisive pleasure when the desk attendant's eyes glaze over just a bit at the sight of his first name. "So, uh," he begins conversationally, "there any werewolves staying tonight?"

' _Don't fidget. Don't fidget! Don't turn away from the desk, you're probably showing through your jeans, fuck.'_

The attendant's expression closes off completely. "Sir," she says, her voice flat, "this is hotel is owned by Hale Ltd., and is a safe space for werewolf clientele."

Shit.

"That's- no, no, I wasn't asking because of that. I'm meeting a friend here and I was just wondering if he was here yet."

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to avoid the judgmental eyes of the desk attendant that clearly doesn't believe him.

 _That's cheating,_ the text says. _And pointless._

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. "Nevermind, you know, I'm sure he's here. I'll run into him later. Thanks!" He takes the keycard and his things off the desk and makes a beeline for the stairs. The idea of having to stand still in the elevator makes him jittery. Stiles completely misses his floor the first time, having forgotten to look at his room number before climbing the stairs. His face burns, not completely from embarrassment, as he doubles back to the correct floor and towards his room.

It's only when he's stepped inside room 314, and ready to close the door, that the reservations he's been trying to avoid strike him.

He's actually doing this.

He's meeting someone anonymously for sex.

Someone he's talked to for less than a month. For anonymous sex.

He could just shut and lock the door. Stiles could just keep the man out. Leave the hotel. _Go home._

But he doesn't want to. The anxiety in his veins is coursing right alongside a burning _want._ He _wants_ this so badly.

Stiles flips the deadbolt out, and shuts the door on it, leaving it open just a sliver. His phone is in his hand immediately, texting Scott like he promised.

 _I'm here and smelling suitably like Pack. And doing this._

 _Be safe!_ is the immediate reply.

 _As safe as I can be._

So he has ten minutes - probably a little less by now. Stiles' heart races in his chest, his hands shake as he unzips his duffel. Less than ten minutes to showtime. _Oh god._ His eyes are glued to the door as he drops his belt and the lube onto the bed, the only tools he's brought with him. Stiles wonders, idly, if _Airitech_ brought anything. The possibilities have his hands fumbling with his clothes, tangling himself up as he attempts to undress.

His dick doesn't seem to be fazed by his anxiety, however. It pops free of his jeans almost _happily_ , flushed pink and ready to play. Stiles gets a hand on it he's out of his clothes, stroking over his length to soothe the unbearable need for touch. Insecurity strikes just as suddenly, and he stumbles into the en suite to make sure he's absolutely clean. (He'd already done a thorough job before leaving, but he has to make _sure_.)

With a trembling sigh, Stiles wanders back out and climbs onto the bed. It takes everything he has not to kneel there staring at the door, waiting on bated breath. The silence around him is like a blanket in the heat of summer, pressing, suffocating, making his skin feel itchy, too tight around his bones. Stiles breaks himself away from listening to it; knows that if he sits here, focusing on the silent, he'll fall into it, latch onto it for the desire of even the quietest sound.

Playing with the belt always calms and excites him at the same time. Stiles wraps both ends around his wrists, not enough to restrict movement, but enough to feel the tight coils around his hands, to still them of their nervous trembling. He runs the slack middle of the belt over his stomach, his hips, his thighs. The soft, worn leather sends shivers coursing through him. His skin prickles. Biting his lip, Stiles loops it around his cock, stroking it in ever tightening movements. Just a little, to help relax him. He's allowed that, right?

There's probably not much time left. He swallows hard, before turning his back to the door. Just like he was instructed (like he _wanted_ ). It takes some maneuvering to get his hands bound comfortably behind his back and slick with lube. He drops the bottle twice, cursing and arching back to blindly search for it. By the time he's pleasantly restrained, kneeling, and hand slick with lube, he's lost track of how much time he has left. His heart pounds in his chest, a heavy thud that he's sure every shifter on the floor can hear.

His hands are in the perfect position at the small of his back. He doesn't even have to stretch to rub wet fingers down his crease, shivering as he toys with his rim. There isn't any time for teasing. He needs to be ready because in a few minutes there's going to be a werewolf barging into his room and fucking him without mercy.

Stiles pitches forward onto the bed, ungraceful and uncaring as his stomach does a hot, dizzying flip. Oh yeah, his cock definitely likes that thought. And so does the rest of him. He spreads his legs wider on the bed, canting his hips up enough to get his fingers past his rim. The nerves makes it harder to open himself up, but the _stretchburnache_ is enough to drive his worries from the forefront the longer he keeps going. He can't get his fingers very deep, the angle is too awkward for that. But it's enough to spread two fingers and then three, breathing deep and coaxing himself to relax. Imagining being found like this helps, imagining _his werewolf_ watching him stuff his fingers into his ass in preparation for him _helps_ because just thinking about it gets him shivery and hot all over.

He even manages four, moaning quietly despite the cramp in his hand, when he hears the stairwell door shut. The floor is dead silent, and the sound is as startling as a gunshot. His heart freezes, and then _takes off_.

There are footsteps. Slow, deliberate, not a hotel guest making a straight line for their own room but ambling down the hall in measured, searching steps. Stiles forgets to breathe. He props his head up on the bed so he can stare between his spread legs at the door. He clenches his teeth around a whimper as he twists his fingers out of his hole, instead clenching both hands around the belt.

The footsteps go quiet too soon. Stiles loses track of them, and bites his lip in frustration.

The sound of the hinges creaking open makes him jump. He watches in complete disbelief as the door eases open, just enough for his intruder to slip into the room. All Stiles can see from this angle is a pair of legs and the barest hint of hips all in dark, tight jeans. And those are… well, those are some nice legs, okay? Stiles isn't exactly an _expert_ on legs but he definitely appreciates this pair.

The click of the lock makes him flinch. He's acutely aware of his panting breaths in the silence of the room. He knew this was going to be intense, but not even his fantasies prepared him for how _exposed_ he feels. How vulnerable. How _hot_ the feel of another's eyes on him would be.

"Look at you. I could hear your heart from a floor below. Your _scent_ is stinking up the hall." The tension in his hands relaxes. That's _Airitech's_ voice. Deeper, rougher with desire, but it's the same voice. "It's like you want every shifter in the building to come fuck you." His face heats, and he wants to hide it in the sheets. But he can't look away. Not when the other man is moving closer, palming the the bulge in the front of his jeans.

"I-" He jolts at the _smack_ rather than the sting, more startled by the feel of a hand coming down on his ass than anything.

" _Quiet._ "

And Stiles can't help the whimper that crawls up his throat at the command. Because that voice should _not_ be allowed to growl like that. It doesn't earn him another smack, but a breath of laughter instead. His heart ratchets up another notch as he hears the metallic click of a belt being worked open, and arches up enough to watch the man's hands - large, elegant, _fuck those forearms_ \- deftly undo his fly. His jeans are shoved down quickly, and Stiles only vaguely pays attention to the man divesting himself of his shoes and pants, because his eyes are latched onto the dick swinging hard and heavy between the man's legs. It's not a _monster_ per se (Stiles is a pornography conessiuer and he's _seen_ what porn has deemed "monster cock") but it's certainly bigger than any dick Stiles has braved taking before. He's caught between trepidation and _need_ just looking at it.

The next time a hand comes down on him, it's to brush right over his exposed hole, sliding in the lube and massaging it until it gives under his thumb. It breaches him with ease, and the man lets out a hungry growl behind him. Stiles' shoulders shake, fighting not to squirm. The moment of silence seems to stretch on forever, with the man leisurely fucking his fingers into Stiles until he wants to _burst_ , to _beg_ for something, nothing, _anything._

The tell-tale rip of a packet startles a heady moan out of him and he promptly flushes and shifts to press his face into the sheets. The werewolf doesn't make a sound, but Stiles can _feel_ the smug air radiating from him. Fingers are pulled out of him, leaving him hollow and vibrating with nerves and need. Stiles can hear him moving, rolling the condom on and the snap of the bottle's cap; wants to lift up onto his knees and _look_ but he's off balance like this, with his shoulders pressed to the bed and his ass in the air - _presenting_ to this werewolf. The anticipation is nothing like he'd fantasized about. He'd always just skipped straight to being fucked when he thought about this.

A whine, high and shaking, leaves him.

"Hush. You're going to get exactly what you wanted." The bed dips behind him and hands grip his hips, the tips of _claws_ digging into the thin skin just enough to sting and Stiles _yelps_. He barely has time to get his breath back before the blunt head of that dick is pressing into him. He chokes, and tries to cry out but the air is forced from his lungs as the man pulls him back onto his cock in one sure, mind-bending motion. The stretch is just on this side of too much. But the man doesn't quite still, instead rocking into Stiles in small, fluid thrusts, _fucking_ him open.

"You can take it," he assures Stiles. The drag of his hips is slow and dirty, and Stiles squirms, not sure if he wants to get away from the relentless pressure or thrust back into it. His bound hands are quickly grabbed, manhandling him into place with his hips hitched higher, changing the angle so he can get deeper.

He's thrusting with a little more purpose now, _making_ Stiles take his cock and Stiles' breath hitches brokenly. The burn is less, leaving him feeling stretched open and _full._ "There you go," the man rumbles. "Now you're enjoying it, aren't you? You want me to fuck you properly?"

The question isn't rhetorical, but Stiles doesn't realize that until the claws drag along his side, making him gasp and arch away.

" _I said_ , do you want me to fuck you properly?"

"Y-Yeah," he whispers.

The claws pinch at his hip. "What was that?"

"Yes!"

"Prove it to me." He pulls out a bit, and pats Stiles' thigh. When Stiles doesn't move, he actually snarls, and the sound sends a shiver down to Stiles' toes. "Fuck yourself on my dick; show me just how much you want it," he instructs.

Stiles is sure he's flushing all the way down his neck, with how hot his face feels. He bites his lip to keep quiet, to keep from somehow ruining this with something stupid, and tries to do as he's told. It's awkward, though, as his position doesn't offer him much leverage. His hips mostly sway back the slightest bit, not managing to thrust back so much as grind in place.

The werewolf tsks at him. "You can do better than that."

Shame burns white hot in his chest. He grits his teeth and _shoves_ , breath shuddering as he slides down on the other's cock, further than he expects. He falters before moving his hips in tight circles. Stiles can _feel_ the eyes on him, and just knowing the man is watching his length ease in and out of Stiles' body has his thighs shaking.

"That's it. Look at you. You like that?"

"Mmpf," Stiles has to suppress a heady moan. "Yeah…"

"You want more?"

This time Stiles doesn't trust his voice. He nods.

It only seems to amuse his partner. Stiles can hear the smirk in his voice. "Then ask me."

Stiles' voice cracks. He slows down his movements, and jolts back into rhythm when the other man pats his thigh reproachfully. "F-Fuck me." He knows where this is going almost as soon as he says it.

" _Nicely._ "

" _Please_ , fuck me!"

"That's better."

And that is the end of his mercy. A hand presses down between Stiles' shoulder blades, forcing his chest lower against the bed, holding Stiles immobile as he snaps his hips forward. There's no chance to recover from the shout wedged in his throat before he's being fucked relentlessly. The hands pinning him keep him from sliding across the bed with the force of them. The ruthless pace is unlike anything Stiles has had in his _life._

"Oh, _god!_ " he gasps, straining against the man's hold. Each slam into his body sends a stab of intense, aching pleasure zinging up to his heart and then back down to his dick. The only thing drowning out the obscene smack of hips against his ass is his own loud gasps and bitten off moans. "Ah- _\- oh_ fuck- _fuck!_ "

"Just what you wanted - _exactly_ what you wanted," the werewolf snarls behind him, his voice huskier now, his words drawn out between breaths. "First one to hunt you down gets the prize. Gets to use you up and wreck you. You would've presented your ass to anyone who walked in, wouldn't you? You don't give a damn who it is, as long as you get a dick in you. Isn't that right?"

"Unngh, n- I-" It's too intense, it's just _so much he can't think._

" _Say it!_ " The swat to his ass actually means business this time, and sound deafening in the room and it _burns_ and then tingles and Stiles is trembling.

He lets out a sob. The sound surprises even him.

The next thing he's aware of is the hot weight of the other man's body over him, flattening him to the bed, blanketing him. The ridge of his nose caresses just behind Stiles' ear, the hands that had been holding him down going around him instead. "What's your safeword?" the man urges, voice gentler, softer.

What comes out of his mouth is pre-verbal. His mind blanks. All he can think about is the hard, hot lines of the body pressing him down, around him, _in him_.

" _Safeword._ " The repeated order startles him.

"R-Rowan!" he finally manages to whimper. He gets a hum of approval for it, the sound soothing his nerves.

"You going to use it?"

Stiles shakes his head, and then croaks " _Green!_ " as soon as he remembers that's even a thing. Hot breath fans down his neck - a sigh, relief maybe? But what follows is the lightest brush of lips just behind his ear as the werewolf sits back. And that, _that_ has Stiles arching towards the sheets, desperate to feel _something_ on his aching dick than anything has. And just like that, the softness is gone. His arms are wrenched further up his back, a hand tugging his hips back up in a grip so tight Stiles knows there's going to be bruises. "I did _not_ give you permission to rub yourself off. The only way you're coming today is on my cock." He starts moving again, drawing almost all the way out before pushing his entire length back into Stiles in one slow, toe-curling thrust. "Think you can do that? Come from being fucked?"

Stiles shakes his head.

"Tch. Then you aren't coming at all."

Stiles can't help it. He whines, breath hitching on the end of it. Desperate.

"You _love_ it, don't whine." The bed shifts as the man adjusts his stance, leaning more of his weight over Stiles's back. A hand squeezes the back of his neck and Stiles _keens_. The pace builds again, each thrust sending him so deep inside Stiles that pleasure jerks in his belly. "Maybe I should keep you," the werewolf rumbles, voice going raspy - almost breathless. "Keep you tied to the bed all weekend. Use you however I like. Teach you how to come untouched. No one would look for you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Stiles thinks he _might_ beg. He can't be sure if there's actually words coming out of his mouth. But whatever it is, it gets him a breathy huff of a laugh in response.

Stiles loses track after that. The world narrows down to points, to the hands pinning him down, to the dick spearing into him over and over again, ruthlessly taking him, using his body as this man sees fit. It's dirty and wrong and _so right_ , letting himself be wrecked like this. He can't hear his own shouts anymore over the rush of adrenaline and lust and sensation, though he thinks he may beg " _There- right there! More!_ " when the man angles his thrusts just right against his prostate. Despite being held down, Stiles feels light. Almost dizzy. He's close, he can feel it, but he can't come like this - maybe if he had a little more, _just a little more_ \- but it's okay. It's perfect. It's intense and too much, but it's perfect to used for this man's pleasure.

And then suddenly the werewolf is pulling out of him so fast that he flinches and cries out. His hole clenches around nothing, and being so empty is fucking _distressing_ , okay? His own noises come back to him in a rush, and it's with a jolt of humiliation that he realizes he's _mewling_ and practically _sobbing_ for it and he's not entirely sure if his face is wet with sweat or _tears_. Just one of the other's hands leaves him, and Stiles is irrationally glad it's not both. Because if he stops touching Stiles, Stiles is _going to die_. There's a snap of rubber, an urgent growl, and the werewolf is back, covering him with his body again. This time grinding his bare cock - warm and slick - between his cheeks. He _ruts_ , erratic thrusts grazing right over Stiles' oversensitive hole, making him _shake._

Lips are mashed right against his ear, breath damp and imperfect and _electrifying_ all the same, because he's letting out these little whimpers directly into Stiles' ear - " _Fuck, fuck, fuck-_ "

" _Please!_ " Stiles gasps in return. "Oh god, _please_ -" And then _wails_ as blunt teeth sink into the soft flesh between his shoulderblades, masking the muffled cry of the man coming over his back in hot spurts.

The werewolf collapses onto his elbows, bracketing Stiles and the space between their bodies _sizzling_ and Stiles can't stop trembling and he thinks maybe, just maybe the other man is shaking a little too. The only sounds in the room are their panting breaths.

The weight shifting back leaves him cold. It startles him. Fingers drag down his sides and over his hips. "Stay still," the man orders, his voice no more than a breathy sigh. "I don't want you to move until I'm gone. You got that?"

And he must take Stiles' complete silence as confirmation, because he gets up from the bed - and stumbles into it just slightly, his legs must be shaky - and Stiles hears him dress.

"Thanks," the man says flippantly, from much further away. The hinges creak open, and then shut again. And the footsteps retreat back down the hall.

It's not until his chest burns that Stiles realizes he's holding his breath.

" _Nnn_." The whimper is utterly pathetic and he bites his lip to stop another one from slipping out of his mouth. His entire body is _burning_ and yet it feels lighter than air, like he's going to go up in smoke and just float away. And there's nothing to keep him on the ground. Nothing to keep him from burning. He wriggles on the bed, but his limbs feel disconnected from his will. Tangled. The belt isn't a comfort anymore. It's only a trap.

It's a real sob that leaves his mouth next.

He thought he wanted this. This _is_ what he asked for. But there's nothing here but him and the silence and Stiles _can't._ He can't, he _can't_.

" _Shhh._ "

Stiles jumps so badly that his knees slip on the bed. And then the relief hits, and he melts against the sheets with a wavering cry. Almost immediately, hands are at his hips, not bruising this time but firm, holding him down with fingers tracing soothing circles over his hipbones. "I've got you."

The voice is so _soft_ again. Stiles wants to cry. " _Don't_ ," he pleads wetly, "don't, dont-"

"Don't what?"

"Don't _leave_."

There's a sharp intake of breath behind him, and then the hands are smoothing up his sides, as high as his ribs, and back down again, as if trying to chase the tremors away. "I won't," he reassures Stiles. "I'm right here. I've got you." He shushes him gently, rubbing in calming, repetitive circles. The touches anchor him, give Stiles something to latch onto. "Do you want to come?"

" _Yes!_ Oh god, yes, oh, oh fuck _please_ -"

"Shh. I'll give you what you need," he says. Three fingers slip into his fucked out hole, and it _aches_ but sets his body alight all over again. "There you go," the man soothes, "That's it." He fucks Stiles easily with his fingers, no resistance whatsoever, and lets Stiles sloppily thrust back onto them. "You were so good for me. You took it so well. Everything I could give you. So you can come, whenever you want to, sweetheart." The endearment seems to shock the both of them and Stiles sobs, rocking back onto his fingers, breath catching as one messy roll sends them jabbing into his prostate.

"Touch me!" he begs. "Please, _please_ I need it- I can't-"

"I know." The hand on his hip caresses it's way under him, wraps around his throbbing dick without warning, and Stiles is sure his eyes roll back.

" _Ah-ungh._ " He can't speak. His entire body is curling tight, his legs curling up from the bed, the telltale hot spike of orgasm building.

And then the werewolf leans in, his tongue swiping at his puffy, slack rim, tracing around his fingers, scraping his beard against Stiles' sensitive skin, and Stiles _screams._ He doesn't even complain as Stiles fucks wildly into his fist and back onto his fingers and tongue, until all he can do is convulse his hips. He comes so hard his voice gives out. His body does a strange kind of dip, where everything goes numb and he feels likes he's falling, and then is engulfed in a warm tingling sensation.

His head is _fuzzy_ for a while after that. Nothing seems to exist in reality and the floating feeling is rapidly turning into a _falling_ feeling, but there are hands on him this time. Strong, sure hands that only leave him for an instant before returning to wipe up the mess all over his back and his ass and his thighs with a damp cloth. They untangle the belt from his arms and straighten out his limbs, fingertips digging into the muscles until he's relaxed and spread out on the bed. The sensation of weightlessness isn't nearly as terrifying this time, because those hands are gently guiding his descent back to earth, making sure he doesn't crash and burn.

It's only when the hands leave him again and room is engulfed in darkness that Stiles puts his lethargic brain to use. "Mm?"

Well, he at least he makes the attempt.

"It's okay. Just closing the curtains so you can relax. Come on, budge up. Out of the wet spot." And when Stiles can barely get his liquified bones to cooperate, he's scooped up and moved up the bed as if he weighs nothing.

The werewolf doesn't just rearrange him, though. Stiles is stopped from just flopping against the pillows by a hand at the back of his neck. Stiles blinks, but it's too dark and his eyes aren't quite working properly yet. "Take a drink before you lie down," the man says quietly. A straw is placed to his lips. And Stiles, Stiles had _no_ idea he was this thirsty because he takes greedy gulps of it. "Hey, hey, slow down. Don't choke." He's _guided_ through it, through taking breaths between each drink, until the burn in his throat has lessened. And then he's lowered back onto the bed, the warm pad of a thumb brushing the last droplets of water from his face… and it's so fucking _tender_.

He settles on the bed after Stiles, slipping an arm under Stiles' shoulders and guiding him down. Which is how Stiles finds himself draped across a firm, muscular, deliciously furred chest with a steady heartbeat in his ear and there's no way Stiles is complaining about that. At all.

"Get some rest," the man says. "We'll talk after you wake up."

As if Stiles could protest that when there's a hand tracing patterns up and down his spine and over his shoulders. "Mmkay." He's just starting to drift off too, when a thought strikes him and he groans. "Wait. Uh. Ph'ne. _Phone_. Bedside table." He pats at the firm plane of the chest beneath his head. His voice is a barely mumbled, slurred mess, but it gets his point across. "Gotta t'll Scott m'okay."

His phone is pressed into his hand after a moment. "He your backup?"

"Y'h. S'gonna call th'cops if I don'." The bedside lamp clicks on, which makes the phone screen just slightly less _second coming of Christ_ but still blinding. He squints at the screen, fumbling to get his camera app open. The first few attempts to take a picture fail miserably, as Stiles just taps wildly at the screen in hopes he can hit the shutter without actually looking, until his companion reaches down to hold the phone steady for him. Stiles doesn't wait to see how it turned out, just sends it to Scott and tosses the phone to his side. He curls into the werewolf's side, flinging a leg over one of his. "There," he mumbles. "Gonna nap now. 'Kay?"

"Okay. I'll be here when you wake up."

He thinks he tries to respond. But he's asleep before it even comes out of his mouth.

* * *

The first thing he's aware of is that it's like he's cuddling a furnace.

The second is that it feels like he's been fucked by a jackhammer. He's sore in places he wasn't aware _you could be sore._

Which brings him right back to thing number one. Because thing one - read: the werewolf that runs almost _uncomfortably_ warm - is the reason thing two exists.

And… Stiles is cuddling with the man he arranged to anonymously fuck him.

The man who wanted to anonymously fuck him is _still here._ _Cuddling him._

' _Okay. Okay, you've got this.'_

"I can hear you freaking out."

Stiles freezes. "Uh." He dares to crack an eye open, and finds himself staring down at a very muscular torso. There's a sheet hanging low on hipbones that look like they've been carved from marble. And the rest of him may be covered, but the sheet is pretty thin, okay? It doesn't hide much. " _Uh._ " His mouth waters.

"Well that's better than freaking out, at least."

His face heats. He doesn't even want to know what he smells like to the werewolf right now. "You're still here," he deflects.

"I told you I would be." He did, actually. Multiple times and throughout the entire process, he's said he wanted to stay. But _asking to stay_ is vastly different from the gentle assurances of _"I'm here, I've got you, I'm right here"_ that had been whispered to him. Just remembering it makes Stiles' heart do a shivery flutter in his chest.

"How long was I out?

"Only half an hour. How are you feeling?"

Stiles shifts, taking gleeful inventory of the aches and protests of his muscles. "More fucked out than I have _ever been_ in my life, I think."

Somewhere just above him, the werewolf hums. "Good thing?"

" _Fuck yeah,_ that's a good thing!" He stretches again, as far as he reach before the strain intensifies to just this side of pain. "Gonna have to take a long shower before I go, though."

"I think we can manage that."

Stiles grins, settling back down. But the content bubble he's descended into bursts a moment later, once he nearly glances up on instinct.

He realizes that he's yet to see the man's face. He hasn't even thought to look.

He _really_ wants to.

And he's making himself painfully obvious, because his entire body has gone still, and so has the body beneath him. He raises his head slowly, mind flitting through the possibilities of what he's going to find when he finally sees him. His brain, as always, is not especially kind, and he gets stuck on images of hilariously large noses or scars or unflattering moles (which is kind of hypocritical, given Stiles' own liberal skin spots).

His eyes latch onto a freckle on the man's chest. Because that's kind of adorable. And then onto the defined ridge of collarbones, up the hollow of his throat and by the the time he gets to that sharp jawline his eyes shoot up the rest of the way, unable to take it any longer.

He stares.

The most brilliant, mesmerizing green eyes stare back. Except they aren't just green, because Stiles is close enough that he can see the rings of golden brown and flecks of gray and blue in them, and they're framed by these _obscenely long,_ dark lashes and… and…

Stiles is keenly aware that this mouth is hanging open.

The man's lips - which are pink and cute and kind of pouty - quirk up just slightly at the corners. "Hi," he says after a minute.

Stiles is pretty sure his brain short-circuits. The man, at least, shows mercy and lets him mentally reboot.

"Did I hook up with a porn star?"

He feels the laugh vibrate under him rather than hear it. "No."

"A prince?"

"No…"

" _A god? A figment of my imagination?_ "

The laughter is so strong now that Stiles can barely stay propped up on his chest. He watches in rapt fascination as the man covers his mouth, turning slightly as if to escape him.

"No, _seriously,_ you can't be real! Look at you _oh my god_. I have never been sexually attracted to eyebrows _ever_ until now, how do you- and your _cheekbones_ , Christ-"

"Uh."

"-and how do you get your beard _this perfect_ , it looks _photoshopped_ oh my god-"

"Practice?"

"- _you even have bunny teeth, what,_ you seriously can't be _this_ attractive and cute!" He's aware that he's thumbing the werewolf's lips to get a look at said bunny teeth, and that's _probably_ not the smartest idea, to get up in a werewolf's business without permission, but the man only looks amused and… and is that a blush on his face?

"I'm dreaming," Stiles concludes. "Yup. I hooked up with a reasonably attractive looking guy and just dreaming that he's actually a 25 out of 10-" His voice cracks, trails off in a squeak as the man below him turns and closes his lips around Stiles' thumb, eyes sparking mischievously as he suckles at it. " _Stop that!_ " Stiles hisses. "You're not helping!"

He lets Stiles go with an obscene slurp. "So you are as rambly in person."

"And you really are one of _those_ assholes."

The way his eyes crinkle at the corners tells Stiles _exactly_ what's coming. "Sometimes, yeah."

That should _not_ be that attractive. It should _not_ make Stiles want to jump him all over again. "So, uh, I'm Stiles." And then he winces. "Is it weird to ask your name after I said I wanted this to be anonymous? It's weird, isn't it? But it _also_ feels weird to, like, talk to someone who just fucked me six ways to Sunday and not know his name."

The other man shakes his head. It ruffles his inky black hair even more. Which- even his bedhead is gorgeous. _How._ "Derek."

"I- Derek. Hey, _hi._ "

"Hi." He - _Derek_ \- sits up slowly, bringing them close again and _oh_ , those are definitely honest-to-god _bedroom eyes._ "Stiles?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"I… booked my room for the weekend. You want to stay with me?"

"Yes!" The words try to leave him all at once, nearly choking him with excitement. " _Yes_ , I- I have to tell Scott I'm staying longer. But _yeah_ , totally! Just lemme…" Stiles fumbles for his phone, which ended up buried under the pillows at some point. He's halfway through texting Scott with his change of plans when he glances up at the screen, and pauses.

He hadn't looked at the picture before sending it. It's a little blurry, a little dark. But there he is, sex-flushed face propped on Derek's chest, his eyes half-lidded and _blissed_ , with his hair a mess and his lips bitten and puffy. He looks completely fucked out.

And there's Derek, or Derek's jawline to be more precise, with an arm around his shoulders and his nose pressed into Stiles' hair. The camera caught the barest hint of a grin on his lips.

All the breath rushes out of him. "Wow," he whispers. Stiles glances up at Derek and back down at the photo again. "I wanna post this. Can I? I know you said you didn't like pictures of you online. And I get that. But your face isn't even really showing and it's _really nice._ " He passes the phone over, watching Derek's expression closely as he studies it. There's a curious wave of emotions that pass over his face in quick succession. Surprise, desire, embarrassment, and startling uncertainty. And then it all slides into a blank mask a few seconds later.

Stiles is sure he's going to say no. Which is understandable, of course, if the guy values his privacy, but still disappointing. Instead, after a long stretch of silence, Derek shrugs. "Yeah. Go ahead. My face is hidden enough."

"Great!" Stiles leans forward for the phone, pauses when he thinks about how close it brings them, stares into Derek's eyes and at his lips, considers closing the distance for a kiss. And… ultimately chickens out and pulls away.

A wide hand grasps his jaw, holding him still as Derek chases after him, bringing their lips together in a firm, searing, toe-curling kiss for the briefest second. "I'll get that shower going," he mumbles as he leans back. There's something smug in the faint curl of his lips.

Stiles feels downright _dreamy_ as he watches the man slide out of bed and lope towards the en suite. Shamelessly ogles at every inch of bare skin.

 _Damn_ that ass is as brain-meltingly hot as the rest of him.

It takes him a while to actually post the picture at all.

 _Everything went PERFECT. Airitech was better than anything I could ask for, and SMOLDERING on top of it! We're staying for the whole weekend. ;)_

* * *

 **End. Walk on, Traveler of Worlds.**


	2. Extra

**Title:** All of me uncharted  
 **Author:** ANTchan  
 **Fandom:** Teen Wolf  
 **Rating/Genre:** Smutfic/E  
 **Pairings:** Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski  
 **Summary:** So maybe Stiles has this fantasy. Maybe it's his favorite one. And maybe he makes a post about it on a community sex blog. There's nothing shameful about that. That's what it's for. He expects most of the responses he gets - the supporters, the enthusiasts, the creeps.

But the simple message: _Would you trust me to give you that?_

After that, all bets are off.

 **This story includes** Safe, Sane, Consensual BDSM, casual sex, anonymous sex, bondage, orgasm delay/denial, slight dubcon roleplay (in concept rather than practice), rough sex, prior consent, kink negotiation, aftercare, werewolves are known AU, intensely platonic/pseudo-romantic Sciles, and platonic Sciles kisses.

So this isn't the sequel, and for that I apologize. THAT's still be worked on (for almost a year now, ugh). And if it gets much longer I may just post it in two parts.

BUT ANYWAY. Welcome back to All of me uncharted! This little extra was meant to go into approx. the third installment of this series. But a reader talked me into the idea doing a little extra from Derek's POV. I say talked me into. It was more like they said "wow this was great! I would love to see something from Derek's POV" and I went "I CAN DO THAT." So here we are. This ficlet starts off just as Derek leaves the room, and goes up to the end of that scene.

I want to thank everyone for all of the love and encouragement you've all shown this fic. It's been an experience that I could only have dreamed of. And I hope you enjoy this little token of my gratitude.

(Even if it's not the sequel.)

* * *

 **All of me uncharted**

 _Extra_

* * *

How Derek makes it to the ice station on numb, shaking legs, he'll never know. It's just one step at a time, one hand on the wall to support him, until he walks the fifteen feet or so to the floor's refreshment alcove. There's no one to see him go stumbling into the wall, thank god. He doesn't want to know what he looks like right now - sweaty and flushed, pants barely fastened from throwing them on so quickly, smelling like sweat and come and arousal. For a moment all he can do is lean there and gasp for breath.

It has been a long, _long_ time since he's been this far gone. He barely stops himself from sliding to the floor and just shaking there in the aftermath for a few minutes; from just crashing right there in the damned hall.

But he can't do that. Because there's a sub - a brash, responsive, _delicious_ submissive - waiting for him back in that room. One that's never been brave enough to try a scene before, let alone one this intense. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Derek lurches off the wall, gritting his teeth in frustration as his hands falter to open the refrigerator in search of water bottles. His hands don't seem to want to do what he tells them. (How did he even manage to keep it together when he was fucking the man into his first subspace?)

He gives himself a moment, distantly listening to his companion's still reedy gasps and the rustling of sheets as he starts to shift on the bed. Just long enough that he can take a few drinks himself. So he might have a chance to _steady himself_ before going back in.

It's the first little hint of a sob that stops him. No longer sexual and now _distressed_ and followed by the sound of what can only be _struggling_.

Derek grabs another bottle of water and doubles back as fast as his unsteady legs can carry him.

Stupid. _Stupid!_ Why did he ever agree to leaving the room after? The other man had insisted, sure, but he obviously had no idea what he was getting into. And Derek _did._ This may be outside how Derek usually operates, but he at least has _experience_. He's an idiot.

Derek slips into the room as quickly and quietly as he can, fearing the worst. But the standard BDSM horror stories are nowhere to be found in the room. His companion hasn't fallen off the bed in his bound state, hasn't worked himself into a position that cuts off circulation or made breathing difficult. He's not _hurt_ , thank god, but he's...

He's crashing. Derek can actually see it happening. He's coming down from his very first endorphin rush during a scene and he has no idea how to handle it. And Derek knows, he _knows_ it can be scary even on top of draining as fuck, and he'll be damned if he lets him go through this without proper help. "Shhh," Derek hushes him, going to the bed in quick strides. The young man almost falls over at his voice, his answering sob one of relief this time. "I've got you," Derek tells him softly. He does what he can to steady him, tracing nonsense circles at his hips.

And the young man pleads with him, his voice wrecked. " _Don't,"_ he says. Over and over like it's a lifeline.

"Don't what?"

"Don't _leave_."

And fuck if that doesn't set off every instinct Derek has. It's borne of the intensity of the sex and the connection that forms, to be sure. But it's Derek's job to make sure his partner is well taken care of, before, during, and after. Not just his job, it's his _obligation._ And it fulfills something in him just as much as acting out a scenario does.

He tries to bring the sub down as easy as he can, murmuring praises and assurances as he rubs at his hips and up and down his sides. The young man's wrists are still bound behind his back, and they'll need to be freed soon. But Derek needs to get him calm first. "Do you want to come?" he asks. Because he's been so good for Derek, so brave and so willing. There's nothing Derek wants more in that moment than to reward him for it. The way he begs for it is so perfect, so pretty and desperate that Derek doesn't even think to make him work for it or tease him. It's so, so easy to press three fingers into his sloppy, slack hole and watch him choke on a shout. His body goes from pliant to pulled taut, straining to fuck back onto Derek's fingers.

He's so beautiful - sensual and utterly _obscene_. Derek's come is still cooling on his lower back; his skin is flushed pink all the way down to his ribs; and there's a bite mark blooming right between his shoulder blades. Just watching him makes Derek want to fuck him again, to keep the pretty brunette desperate until he can shove right back inside the hot grip of his body.

(But no, Derek can't do that. He knows that. His companion needs to be brought down gently and cared for. Not pushed past his limits on his first go.)

He's only half-aware of the litany of praises coming out of his mouth, only jolted back to reality when he hears himself speak the words: "You can come whenever you want to, sweetheart." The endearment feels so foreign on his tongue. The word has only ever been sickeningly sweet, a false reassurance that has only ever felt wrong, wrong, _wrong_ in his ears - memories of sweet perfume and flashing eyes, too-sharp smiles and false kindness. But here, saying it now, only feels right. Because this man has been so good for him, so sweet in his submission that Derek can't help it.

Derek lets him chase his orgasm in the messy thrusts of his hips for a while. Until he breaks and begs for Derek's touch, begs for Derek to wrap fingers around his cock. At the first touch his body snaps taut as a bowstring. He's close, seconds away from shattering completely. It's too perfect and Derek can't help but lean in and run his tongue along his rim, tracing where his fingers are stretching him open.

The scream dies off as fast as the sub's breath does. He ruts in Derek's grip until his body just gives into overwhelmed shivers and he comes all over Derek's hand.

Derek catches him, at least, before he completely slumps into the bed. The room is filled with the man's ragged gasps and his racing heart. He looks like the perfect picture of thoroughly ravaged _prey_ and Derek lets out a deep rumble just looking at the long lines of his back and bound limbs.

He slips away as quickly and quietly as he can into the en suite for a damp cloth, half fearful that the other man will turn to panic again in the mere seconds that Derek is gone. Wiping the lube, come, and sweat from his body and untying the belt from his hands is a completely rote sequence for Derek, but there's something settling about it. Watching his companion slowly melt into the bed as Derek massages up his arms is the perfect bookend to the soaring power rush that a scene evokes. It makes Derek's own crash, that he can feel coming every time his hands shake, ease off just a little.

Now relaxed, his sub (and it does something _unspeakable_ to him to refer to the man that way in his thoughts) is gazing at nothing with unfocused, heavy-lidded eyes. He's well and truly _fucked out_ , so delectably vulnerable and all for _him_. _His._ If only for today.

Taking care of him lets Derek get a good look at the man's face for the first time since spotting him in the lobby. _falling with stile_ sometimes posts the occasional picture on his blog - never his face, of course - so Derek had already expected the lanky, speckled body. The elegant, long-fingered hands. And his broad shoulders and slender hips (though no picture did them justice to illustrate just how _easy_ it had been for Derek's hands to grasp them, to almost dwarf them.)

But he hadn't expected the long line of his neck, or his sharp jaw. That the same beauty marks that decorated his body also decorated his cheeks. Or his sharp upturned nose or his flyaway, perfectly pullable hair.

And certainly nothing had prepared Derek for the delectable cupid's bow of his lips, that are now swollen and pink, _wrecked_.

Derek has a hundred things he would like to do to that mouth right now.

Or would, if either of them had the energy for it. The man only stirs when Derek shuts the curtains, blocking out the bright afternoon sun and sending the room into comforting darkness. He proves to be absolutely useless at moving himself up the bed, so Derek just scoops him up to deposit him amongst the pillows. "Wait," he whispers as the man bonelessly sinks into the bed. It's only Derek's hand cupping the back of his neck that stops him. "Take a drink before you lie down."

The man doesn't even open his eyes, just lets Derek place the straw to his lips and takes big, greedy gulps of water until Derek has to physically slow him down before he chokes. And then Derek tucks him into bed, watches him sprawl out beneath the cool sheets with a whisper-like moan. Derek should leave him there. He should go wait on the couch for the other man to recover his strength. But Derek can feel the crash creeping in on him, and the space next to his companion looks _so inviting_.

So Derek joins him. He climbs into bed beside the man, this beautiful, wrecked man, and lets him fling an arm over Derek's waist. Let's him press an ear to his chest.

This is… different than how things usually go for Derek.

He's not exactly cold with his lovers, but there's always a distance to be maintained - an understanding that this isn't a regular thing, that Derek doesn't make any of them a _regular thing_ \- and _cuddling_ like this is usually brief. If it ever happens at all.

He blinks, and watches the man start to drift off, only to snap awake again and demand his phone, in a hoarse rasp that, if Derek weren't worn out from the first round, would send pleasure trickling straight down to his toes. His companion has no idea of the effect a few mumbled words has on him, blindly fiddling with his phone in a pathetic attempt at sending a picture to his friend acting as backup. He grunts and fidgets, even curses as his boneless fingers drop the phone a few times. Until Derek has to reach down and help him steady it.

It's oddly endearing.

Derek turns his face into soft, flyaway hair, and breathes deeply. The man's scent and the smell of sex and fresh sweat, and the triumphant little crow his companion makes as he finally finishes his task brings a smile to his mouth. It's… nice.

It's the first time in ages that Derek reconsiders how he handles sex. The first time in a long while that the idea of a one and done, of leaving after they're both satisfied, doesn't fill him with a sense of safety or relief. No, now instead it only fills him with makes him wonder if maybe it wouldn't be so bad to spend even just the weekend with this man, rather than leaving after he's only had a taste.

After all, what harm could it be?

* * *

 **End. Walk on, Traveler of Worlds.**


End file.
